Fairy Tale
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a lonely wizard of questionable repute. But when he slays a dragon and saves the prince of the kingdom, he suddenly decides to take advantage of the king's offer to give him whatever he wants as a reward. He asks for the prince. AU
1. Chapter 1

I can't just take a break like a normal person. I can't just...chill out and maybe study instead of retreating to the Internet. Damn you plotbunnies. Damn you Mr. Floppsie. -punts said plotbunny into the sun- Stop trying to fill the hole in my heart from "Want You to Want Me" and making me write lame AUs.

Oh well. I guess I'm also trying to make up for the fact that I haven't updated my other stories. -shift eyes- Yes, those ones...Maybe during break? We'll see...-wanders away-

Warnings: language, stupidity, OOCness, AU, slash, fail, twisting of fairy tales and mythology

Pairing: eventual UK/Can

Disclaimer: Its really, really good that I don't own Hetalia. For the childrens sake.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland didn't like people very much. Actually, you could say he detested them. You see, he had some bad experiences with people.

Arthur was a warlock. A very powerful one, now, but when he was younger (a century or two younger), he wasn't very powerful at all and wasn't able to defend himself from his fellow villagers.

After a long period of hounding, the villagers pinned the arson of a nearby barn and the death of all the horses (which, surprisingly, was not Arthur's fault. Surprising because he had been practicing a spell that actually set fire to a good acre of forest when it went awry. It could have very well struck the barn, but it didn't. It curved right. In reality, a horse burned down the barn because the stupid farmer left a lit lantern in its stall.). So, the villagers had tied stones to his feet and tossed him into the lake.

Arthur would've died but the knots weren't tied very well and the rope was kind of shitty, so they untied on their own and Arthur swam to the surface. When he crawled out of the lake, waterlogged and extremely put out, he decided that people were very stupid and horrible and sod all, he was leaving.

And so he left. Eventually he settled down, created a coven, lost his coven (you know how things go), and became very bitter and harsh.

Of course, he wasn't very pleasant to begin with.

But there was something about Matthew that made him give the boy benefit of the doubt.

He wasn't sure what it was. It could've been the startling resemblance to his former familiar. But that illusion was shattered at a closer look. It might have been the quiet acceptance in his bright eyes. It might have been the unassuming way he was sitting on the rock, hunched over with his chin resting in the palms. It could've also been the first thing he said when Arthur asked why he was sitting there and why, in heaven's name, was he chained to the tree?

"Oh. You can see me?" Matthew asked curiously, sitting up a little straighter and looking surprised as the cloaked man stared right at him.

"Of course I can." Arthur blinked, adding, "Git." Then, pulling himself up onto the short crag where the blond was, he asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because there's a beautiful patch of flowers over there." The boy replied, nodding at the beautiful patch of flowers. "Everyone who passed before you stopped to admire them."

The sandy-haired warlock gave him a strange look. "Why the bloody fuck would I give a whit about some stupid weeds?"

The blond frowned. "They're actually quite rare. They only grow in this kingdom." He explained.

"I'm more interested in why you are chained to that tree." Arthur said curtly.

Matthew (though, let me just tell you, Arthur didn't know that was his name just yet) sighed and, a little sadly, said, "Because this kingdom is plagued by a dragon. Through an unhappy accident we discovered that the dragon will not attack our livestock and crops if it eats a human. So, now, we sacrifice one human, through a random draw, every summer to appease the dragon." He smiled softly. "And its my turn."

"That makes sense." Arthur said slowly. "It takes longer for dragons to digest humans."

The blond nodded, his blond hair fluttering around his face. "Yes. And the dragon will probably arrive soon so you should probably go now."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"No." The boy shrugged. "I've had a full year to come to terms with my death."

"And you're not going to ask me to help you get free?"

Matthew looked stunned. "Of course not. As prince of this kingdom, I cannot simply—"

"You're the prince." Arthur stated. "And you're being sacrificed?"

"Its only fair." Matthew shrugged, hands palm up. His chains clinked softly.

"Has anyone tried to kill this dragon?"

"Its not as easy as you make it sound." Matthew said, voice hushed and violet eyes wide.

Seeing fear overtake the young blond's face, Arthur raised an eyebrow and slowly turned, cloak swishing around him.

…Dragon.

…An enormous, Hungarian Horntail. And he was staring right into its narrowed golden eyes.

Bloody hell.

* * *

"What are you?" Matthew asked, awed, eyes wide. He was still chained to the remains of the tree, his pale face covered in soot and golden hair charred at the ends from when he had barely managed to dive out of the way of a stream of fire. Now, sitting on his knees, he watched as the stranger pulled his sword from the soft underbelly of the beast, intestines spilling out of the gaping wound.

Arthur, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the steaming innards, swished the sword he had summoned (lets just say he retrieved it from his hammer space, any more detail and it'd be far too complicated and annoying to explain) and, with a twist of his wrist, transformed it back into a long, thin, bumpy wand. Putting it back into his cloak, he turned to look at the prince.

He didn't realize how intimidating he looked, wrapped in a billowing emerald green hooded cloak and standing in a puddle of hot, crimson blood with a half-decapitated dragon with a split belly behind him, half off the crag. He glanced at the prince, cheeks heating up at the amazement on the other's face. But he pushed through the fleeting feeling.

"I am the one to whom you are now indebted." He said simply.

"I didn't ask you to save me." Matthew said quietly, eyes suddenly distrustful, not trusting himself to stand up.

"You also didn't ask me to leave you to die." Arthur shrugged fluidly, not liking the way the other's face grew stormy. "Most would be grateful."

Nevertheless, the prince gracefully stood and nodded at the warlock. "Fine." He said curtly, annoyance melting from his fair features. "Accompany me to the castle. My father will reward you handsomely."

* * *

"Whatever you want, name it and it is yours." The king, a flamboyantly dressed blond announced with a flourish of his scepter, one arm firmly wrapped around his son. "For you, kind stranger, have saved my beloved son and this kingdom. You have our eternal gratitude."

"I wouldn't thank me just yet." Arthur responded. "Because I want your son."

A hush fell over the crowd.

Someone snickered and was promptly silenced with an elbow to the gut.

Arthur realized what he said and quickly backtracked. "Oh bollocks, I meant that I want to…take your son."

That didn't sound any better. Arthur winced as the king gave him a blank look before his azure eyes narrowed.

Matthew looked like he wished the dragon had just eaten him.

"And what makes you think I will simply hand over my heir?" The king, Francis, asked coldly.

Arthur smirked, reaching up and pulling down his hood.

The court gasped.

"Those eyebrows! It must be…" Francis whispered, his expression falling. "Arthur Kirkland." He smirked bitterly, shaking his head. "Would you resurrect the dragon if I were to refuse?"

So it seemed the king knew of his reputation.

I'll say this now. Arthur was neither good nor bad. He simply was a warlock of whatever repute he chose to be at his moment's fancy.

He could just as easily call down a plague as he could save an ill child.

But, everything had its price you know. And through trick or truth, Arthur made sure he was paid.

"Most definitely." Arthur shrugged, green eyes bored. "Now. What is your decision, your Majesty?"

* * *

Arthur would never say it aloud, but he was lonely.

(Trust me. When your only companies are magic folk, you go mad. Arthur was already half-mad. And he had no friends. Sad, but true. After he lost his familiar and coven, he found himself terribly alone for the next few decades.)

And something about this prince charmed him. And, well, Arthur was kind of selfish and when he wanted something, he liked to have it immediately.

(It was probably a crush. Matthew is quite attractive. Arthur denies it to this day.)

"So…what is your name?" He asked awkwardly, giving the sulking blond walking next to him a curious look.

"Matthew." The prince responded.

"May I ask why you smell like pepper?

"Because I thought I'd at least make myself taste pleasant for the dragon." Matthew grit out. "But you killed him so I guess I wasted all that pepper for nothing."

Arthur started thinking that maybe he should've just asked for a horse.

* * *

"This is it." Arthur said, gesturing to the dilapidated, dark little cottage in the clearing. There was an adorable little bridge over a babbling brook that lead to the dwelling and a thicket of forests hiding the spot away from the rest of the world.

"Its lovely." Matthew said listlessly. "I could imagine dying here."

It wasn't much better on the inside. There was a small sitting area and kitchen, cluttered with dirty dishes and ink stains and quills and dusty spell books. It was musty, dust motes drifting lazily across the room as weak sunlight dripped into the room from the dirty windows. The wooden furniture was dark and heavy and no spot was clean. A fireplace with charred remains of wood and a cracked cauldron resting among the ash was directly across from the door.

"It's a bit messy." The green-eyed man muttered, moving away from the door and dusting off one of the chairs from the table, motioning for Matthew to sit. "But…its home." He finished lamely.

He chanced a look at the blond, expression a little hopeful. But Matthew didn't even seem to be paying attention. His violet eyes were vacant and he seemed to shimmer in the weak lighting, as though he wasn't really there and he didn't want to be there. But then he seemed to deflate, gaze drifting around the room before it settled on Arthur. He smiled wanly.

"I suppose." The boy offered, resigned.

* * *

Days pass with Matthew just going through the motions of life. He seems to oscillate between planes of being and sometimes Arthur swears its as though the boy is a ghost. He neither helps nor hinders. Its obvious that he is depressed.

But Arthur does not have patience for such childish emotions.

So when Matthew finally cracks, bursting into tears and sending a vial of rare and expensive pixie blood to the ground, Arthur storms over to the prince and slaps him, once across the face.

It is enough to stun the blond into silence.

"Your life is in my hands." Arthur hisses, green eyes blazing. "Watch yourself, boy."

"What is my life even worth to you?" Matthew snaps back, indignation rising in his tone, cheeks flush with anger. "Why did you even ask for me? You could've had wealth, land, the kingdom, but no. You picked me!"

To be honest, Arthur, at this point, isn't quite sure (he thinks it might have something to do with his recent bouts of talking to himself—intimidating even the fae who find no amusement in dealing with the mentally unfit—and the quiet of his existence grating on his sanity). It had just seemed to be a good idea. Of course, forming a coven seemed to be a good idea too. Enslaving that wendigo familiar seemed like a good idea as well.

Neither of which ended particularly well. So, he has a record of being wrong.

So Arthur lies through his teeth and hopes to bruise the other's pride. "I needed a housekeeper."

Not really. He knows basic cleaning spells. He just doesn't use them.

Matthew looks stunned. And then, rather cruelly, says, "I understand. Even animals clean up after themselves better than you."

* * *

Arthur is so angered by the other's comment that he locks himself in his study for a for a week and brews a potion to silence the boy's insolence forever (it could also kill him, which is an added bonus in the furious warlock's mind).

But when he stumbles out of his study, the entire down stairs is spotless. Not a splatter of potion or ink is visible and Arthur is suddenly reminded that what his floor looked like.

He sets the potion on the table, the black liquid bubbling ominously, and sneaks up the stairs. His bedroom is tidy, smelling of pine and lemon, with fresh wildflowers on his dresser and the curtains thrown open to let in light. He tiptoes to Matthew's room, peering in and catching sight of the blond sitting on his bed. He faces away from the door and seems to be struggling with something.

Soon Arthur realizes the boy is grappling with a needle and thread, doing his best to darn a pair of the warlock's socks. The sandy-haired man watches quietly as Matthew pauses every so often, cursing and sniffling, bringing his finger to his lips when he pricks himself.

And something in the warlock's heart softens and he goes back downstairs and dumps the potion into huddle of trees behind the cottage.

(That is also why there is a single stone tree in the backyard.)

* * *

Dinner that night is a subdued affair. Matthew had made a relatively simple soup, perhaps a bit over peppered but to Arthur it is delicious because he's been living off meals that taste like charcoal.

But the blond is struggling with his spoon, his finger tips bandaged heavily and Arthur wonders just how hard it was for the blond to actually clean and sew. Normally he wouldn't wonder or care because he thinks everyone should be moderately self-sufficient. But the blond seems to be suffering in silence and Arthur remembers striking him and then planning his death and he sighs heavily, drawing the other's attention.

"Is the soup not good?" Matthew asks quietly, eyes a little red. He is subdued, perhaps even a little humbled, but wary.

"Its fine." Arthur says, amending his words by adding, "Better than I could cook."

Matthew bites his lip, most likely keeping in a quiet "I know" because the boy had eaten burnt stew for the first two days before the fight. Instead, he attempts to spoon some more soup into his mouth but the liquid splashes back down into the bowl and he looks frustrated.

Taking pity on the other, Arthur taps the table, murmuring an incantation. On it's own, the spoon lifts up and dutifully dips into the soup before rising up to Matthew's lips.

Surprised, Matthew glances at the warlock but Arthur avoids his gaze and concentrates on eating his own meal.

He misses the little smile that rises on the other's face.

* * *

"Be careful." Arthur called out, leaning in the doorway of the small cottage.

Matthew, gently petting the muzzle of the unicorn that had crept up to him, looked over his shoulder with a quizzical twist to his lips. The unicorn gave Arthur an uninterested look, nudging the blond when his attention drifted a moment too long. Its long, slender silver horn glinted in the sunlight, twisted with a deadly point at the end. Its flank quivered as its glimmering hoofs pawed at the ground and Matthew was quick to sooth it by stroking the length of its body.

"They are vain, mercurial creatures." Arthur said quietly, not moving. "Do not make any sudden movements."

Unicorns preferred a virgin's touch. They would become irritated at anything impure by their fastidious standards.

The last thing he wanted was to see the blond speared by that terrifying horn. Blinking away images of life leaving that kind face and a pool of blood staining those flaxen waves, he ordered Matthew to come back.

The prince, not taking kindly to the hard tone of the warlock's voice, ignored him, leaning closer to the ethereal creature and giggling something into its flicking ear.

"Matthew, please." Arthur repeated, his tone softening.

With a soft sigh, Matthew patted the creature once more and began to back away, not turning his back to the creature. Snorting, the unicorn whinnied and gave the retreating blond a pleading look.

"Come along then." The sandy-haired man said briskly, ushering the boy inside. "You need to be more careful."

"I'm sorry." Came the carefully practiced response.

Arthur sighed heavily, moving past the immobile boy.

Two months and Matthew had yet to open up to him.

* * *

"What are you working on?" A soft voice asked curiously from behind him.

Whirling around and knocking over his carefully placed ingredients with his elbow, Arthur glared at the intruding blond viciously. Matthew seemed to curl in on himself at the hard look.

"Get out." Arthur said lowly, green eyes sparking dangerously as the spilled ingredients began to smoke behind him. He hated being disturbed and thought he had made it obvious that the other was never to enter his workspace. There was even a bloody sign. "Now."

Matthew did so.

That was the day Matthew attempted to escape.

* * *

"Did you think it would be that easy?" Arthur asked, hands on his hips as he stared at the trapped boy with a quirked eyebrow. "Honestly. I'm a warlock, boy."

Matthew, soaking wet and held captive by chains formed by the water of the creek, merely gave him a dark glare from under his soaked bangs. He is sitting in the creek, shivering.

"I mean, honestly, my familiar mortally wounded me in his attempt to escape me. You just stormed out the front door."

"I hate you!" The prince shouted suddenly, before a terrified look shot across his face. He seemed to pull away with his body, giving the other a very wary expression.

Arthur was silent, revealing no sign of hurt at the comment. He wasn't really hurt, honestly. He was used to being hated.

But, it rather stung when Matthew said it. He had thought they were starting to get along smashingly even though the other seemed to avoid his company.

"Well, that's to be expected." Arthur began and Matthew gave him an incredulous look. Defensively, the warlock added, "I did take you away from everything you held dear."

"You're horrible." The blond slumped, lower lip trembling. "You don't even care that you ruined my life."

"Just because you're not a prince—"

"Its not that!" Matthew interrupted. "You took me from my family, my friends, my pets. But I still went willingly because you did save my life and my home. I don't even mind cleaning and cooking—its quite therapeutic and I like to imagine the dirt I'm scrubbing is your face—but you don't talk to me. I don't even know why you brought me here. I know I'm not interesting or attractive or good company, but you did drag me to this place. I mean, if you're going to just ignore me—"

"But I do enjoy your company." Arthur said quietly. "I realize I am not pleasant to be around, but I have been alone for quite some time. You make this life…less lonely."

Matthew quieted, staring at him with a thoughtful, frustrated look. "You kicked me out of your study."

"You shouldn't have been there."

"I didn't know."

"There's a sign."

"I can't read ancient runes."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

* * *

Yeah...this is what happens when I start looking up old Disney movies and reading fairy tales in order to convince myself that the world isn't a hellish place full of exams and responsibilities. -grumble grumble- But, yeah, I wanted to try my hand at writing a fairy tale (why haven't I tried it earlier? Oh right...because its kinda cliched...I LIKE CLICHES THOUGH :D).

So, yeah, this story was partially inspired by the story of St. George slaying the dragon. And, you know how kings in fairy tales offer whatever the hero wants and the hero asks for the princess and just gets her? Well, what if the princess didn't want to go with the hero. Huh? _What then? _

And what if the hero isn't such a noble dude? XD _  
_

(-is shot for making Canada a princes-prince-)

Worth continuing or should I go lock down this computer and actually study? /should stop drinking mountain dew in place of all other fluids_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Well, aren't you all lucky? XD This has actually been done for a few days but I didn't have time to post it. I also wasn't very pleased with it but oh well. This originally was going to be a one-shot but it got dragged out. By which I mean: I was typing it and it started getting long so I decided to split it into parts and maybe expand it. Howeer, I don't expect it to be very long. I mean, I hope its not.

Also, the wendigo familiar? Its Alfred. No, I do not plan to incorporate him into the story. Please don't ask for him to appear because he's not really relevant to this story.

Anyways, thanks for all the lovely reviews and response to this story! Its not meant to be really original or ground-breaking. I might tackle fairy tales in the distant future. This is just intended to be a pleasant little read. So...enjoy~

Warnings: OOCness, language, slash, fail, silliness, previous warnings, AU

Pairing: eventual UK/Canada

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"Can't you just…wave your wand and make me dry?" Matthew asked, eyebrow quirked, as he looked over his shoulder. He had stripped off his soggy clothes and was only in his underpants. Now, kneeling in front of the fireplace, having started up a fire, he attempted to warm himself in front of the crackling flames.

"Magic is not a quick, fix-all." Arthur chastised, brow furrowed disapprovingly. He had escaped upstairs to get a blanket as soon as he saw the prince begin to undo the ties on his shirt. At first glimpse of pale skin the warlock had disappeared to retrieve the blanket himself instead of just levitating it from the linen closet.

Which, you know, would've been easier and he probably wouldn't have stubbed his toe on the way up.

"Is that why you also don't cast household spells?" The blond asked curiously, wiggling his fingers closer to the warmth.

The flames cast a warm glow on his face and Arthur was pleased to note that his lips were no longer tinged blue.

"I think its good to be able to do simple things without magic. In my opinion, you're just useless if you can't even sweep or thread a needle."

"…Right. There was dirt older than me here." Matthew said moodily. "I don't think you're a powerful wizard at all. The dragon slaying must've been a fluke."

"Warlock." Arthur grit out and the fire popped ominously, little embers sparking out and scattering across the floorboards. For a brief moment, the fire twisted and transformed into a rather, bestial leonine form, snarling at the stunned prince before collapsing on itself. "And, if you're going to continue to make snide comments about my abilities, then I might as well tell you that magic is not as easy as you stupid mortals make it out to be. It is easy to cause rampant destruction. There is no rhyme, no reason required to level a kingdom."

He stepped closer to the kneeling boy who seemed to be holding himself still.

"But, some other spells, require a more gentle hand." He explained softly, unfolding the blanket. "They require intense concentration, a soft touch, and patience." He dropped the blanket onto the boy unceremoniously. "None of which I have patience for, chit."

Matthew sputtered, immediately clawing at the blanket and attempting to see. Arthur smirked as the blond eventually freed his head, giving the warlock a dirty look, his hair mussed and sticking up. "You're just not good at them." He accused.

"Better than you."

Matthew made an indignant noise and gripped the blanket so hard his knuckles turned bone white. But he didn't say anything, just turned his face towards the fire, his mouth twisted into a frown.

"You know, you have taken me away from everything I love." The blond began slowly, the fire reflecting off his bright eyes. "You have emasculated—"

"There is nothing emasculating about cooking and cleaning."

"I used to spend my days with tutors, including the Captain of the Guard who made me practice my swordsmanship for hours until my palms _bled._ You have me wearing an apron. I baked a pie." He paused, giving the warlock a hurt look. "Which you didn't even notice—I spent all morning slicing those apples and whipping cream."

Arthur blinked and chanced a glance towards the kitchen where, indeed, there was an innocent, golden-brown pie sitting on the wood-burning stove.

"Not to mention the delicious stew I have going in the oven." Matthew added.

And, indeed, the smell of cooked meat and spices was very present in the room.

"I mean, I clean, slave over a hot stove, and mend your damn socks." The prince continued, eyes narrowed as he glared at scrape on the floor, unleashing the full force of his disdain. "For what? Not even a 'thank you very much Matthew'." He blanched. "And I'm even nagging to you about it _because you don't notice anything._ But I accept it and don't put shards of glass in your food—even though it'd probably still be a step up from the monstrosities you make—"

"That was out of line—"

"I'm miserable!" The blond burst out. "I have taken everything quietly—the chores because they keep me busy, you ignoring me, and the god-awful silence. I have tried to make the best of this. I've tried to talk to you—"

"No, you have not." Arthur said triumphantly, finding a flaw in the other's argument.

Matthew gave him a dark look. "Its like you don't even hear me. I've insulted your eyebrows so many times and you just ask me to pass the peas."

"Well, it has been a while since I've lived with anyone." Arthur snapped, feeling very cornered.

"And I have lived my entire life surrounded by people and still ignored." Matthew said in a hushed voice, shoulders slumping. "But it was okay because I was _someone_. I learned to deal with being overlooked, even as prince. I have learned to keep busy until someone realized I was there. And my father never…" He paused, closing his eyes tightly. "But you have literally taken my life for your own. You have made me into a _nobody_ and you _know_ but you don't care." Silvery tears began to slip down his cheek, falling onto the blanket as the prince just cried silently. "I hate you."

Arthur suddenly realized why his mother never let him have a pet.

* * *

Arthur could go ahead and take the boy back to his kingdom. But he didn't want to.

He was getting rather fond of this 'having company' thing. Just knowing that there was someone with whom he could talk was lovely. And he might not be the nicest man around, but he wasn't a complete beast. He'd just have to make Matthew see that. It'd be better for both of them.

Of course, the prince was already set in his conviction to hate Arthur. So, it wouldn't be easy. And, normally, Arthur wouldn't really care.

But Matthew had sounded so lonely and hurt. And Arthur had felt his heart squeeze painfully when he emerged from his study and found that the boy had locked himself in his room.

(Arthur, incompetent man he is, had been momentarily distracted by the fact that Matthew had finished cooking the stew and just how delicious it looked. He had been about to ladle some for himself when a fairy whistled sharply next to his ear and glared at him, going so far as to attack his hand. In the end, Arthur didn't eat and he felt guilty.

Guilt and an empty stomach are the worst combination.)

As the boy's self-imposed exile continued, Arthur's guilt only worsened.

And it only increased tenfold when the boy, on the third day, came out and treated the warlock with a frigid sort of civility.

_He had sounded so lonely._

But what could he do? His attempts to start conversation had been coldly rebuffed by one-word responses and noncommittal grunts. There seemed to be a perpetual frown on the boy's face and Arthur missed the faint smiles the other would give when Arthur would eat his meal with gusto or levitate over wet floors to keep from tracking dust onto the clean area. He missed the way Matthew would press against him to see whatever products he would get from the nearest town, the way the boy would quietly criticize his inability to pick out ripe fruit while prodding at their bright flesh.

There had been a certain sort of warmth to their interactions, as standoffish as they had been, but now that was gone.

Now they were both miserable. And Arthur knew the other's misery was entirely his fault (knew, mind you, not understood completely or would admit).

So, on his next trip to town, he was stomping aimlessly through the crude streets and paused in front of a shop suddenly, green eyes widening.

Maybe that would work.

* * *

"Stop squirming, you blasted thing." Arthur hissed over his shoulder to the entirely animate thing he held behind his back. "I said stop—Ah, hello Matthew."

"Hello." Matthew mumbled. "You could've just unlocked the door and let yourself in." He added, taking his seat back on the bed and not caring when the warlock sat right next to him.

"I could've…" Arthur nodded. "But…I want to respect your space."

Matthew seemed to snort at that but said nothing.

"Listen up, lad." The sandy-haired man began awkwardly. "You can never go home."

Matthew seemed to curl in on himself, his wavy blond bangs shielding his face.

Arthur mentally kicked himself. "It sounds harsh…but even if you make it past my spells, you will never make it out of the thicket on your own. So, it'd be best that you start to think of this place as your new home." He looked for a reaction, finding none, continued, "And, go ahead and hate me. In fact, it's good to have a healthy hate of something. I hated my brother so much I turned him into a potato. He starved."

The prince covered his face with his hands and trembled. Arthur quickly backtracked.

"Not that I'll turn you into a potato…I don't hate you. In fact…I wasn't lying earlier. You do make this life less lonely. And…I was so concerned with me that I didn't realize how hard it was for you. I regret I could not make this easier."

Matthew still didn't look at him, so Arthur pulled out the creature he had hidden behind his back. Giving the blond a quiet look, he held the bear up to the other's face.

The white bear, tilting his head cutely, reached out and pawed the other's golden tresses. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Matthew turned quickly, violet eyes wide. He leaned away and gave Arthur a wary look. "What…?"

"You hate me. I'll accept that." Arthur said quietly, green eyes soft. "But I can't accept that you are lonely."

He knew loneliness. He could deal with it because he chose it. Matthew didn't choose it.

"So…please don't be upset anymore." The warlock finished, pushing the squirming bear towards the blond.

Matthew numbly took the animated toy, slender fingers brushing over the white fabric and feeling the stuffing by pressing his fingertips into the bear's stomach. Large black eyes, unblinking, looked at him when the prince held the bear up to his face.

Then, tipping forward, the bear's snout (topped with a soft pink thread nose) bopped against the other's nose. "Who are you?" repeated the toy.

"I'm Matthew." The violet-eyed boy whispered. "Do you have a name?"

"Kumajirou." The bear paused. "Who?"

"Matthew, Kumaji." The prince scolded, a lilting tone to his words. His lips twitched into a not-quite-smile.

Arthur let himself out.

* * *

"Be careful, Kumaroo!" Matthew scolded, his blond hair pulled out of his face with a twisted bit of fabric. He was on his hands and knees, a scrub brush in one hand and a bucket of lukewarm, soapy water at his side. He had been furiously scrubbing the spot where the bear had knocked over a bowl of half mixed batter while playing on the table.

Now the bear was pawing at the bowl of berries on the dining table with a curious air.

"Oi! Watch it unless you want to go back to your shelf." Arthur scolded, just now coming out of his study. He stormed over to the table, plucking the bear up by the scruff of his neck.

Kumajirou growled and swatted at the warlock who merely held the toy further from his body.

"You okay down there?" Arthur asked, hesitantly, looking at Matthew.

The blond snuffed a bit of air through his nose and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Yes." He answered, looking up at the green-eyed man. "He's just very lively."

"Could fix that." The older man mused, giving the bear a disdainful frown. "Quick spell and—"

"Oh, please don't." Matthew protested, scrambling to his feet and saving his pet from the warlock. He smiled, cradling the bear to his chest. "He's just curious. Bears are curious. I have…had this pet bear—Winnie—and she was…is so sweet but—" He paused suddenly, looking very troubled and bashful. "I'm sorry. You probably needed something."

"I…" Arthur began, looking away. Honestly, he had finished all his work for the day and was feeling bored. The fae had been chatting his ear off for the better part of the morning and he wanted to escape from them for a few hours. "Not really." He finished lamely. "Please, continue."

Matthew blinked, looking rather adorably bemused as he idly scratched Kumajirou behind one of his ears. "Should I finish…?" He twisted around, gesturing at the abandoned cleaning supplies.

Arthur peered around him. "Don't bother." He shrugged, pulling out his wand. With a sharp swish and stab, the brush spun around and dove into the bucket before plopping out and starting to scrub at the stain jerkily.

"We'd best go outside, however. Just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"It decides we're stains that need to be cleaned as well."

* * *

"—and the cook was so furious!" Matthew laughed, violet eyes sparkling. "Winnie had jam all over her snout and I was covered in syrup."

Arthur laughed lightly, more fascinated by the way the sunlight lit up Matthew's bright hair and the way the boy liked to punctuate his stories with animated hand gestures. His cheeks were chapped from the brisk wind and his wavy hair whipped around his face. The tip of his sharp nose was pink and Arthur found even the little scar on his chin was endearing.

Matthew had pointed the faint discoloring of flesh and merely stated, "I was a horribly wild little boy."

"I have difficulty believing that." Arthur responded dryly, his arms loosely resting on his bent knees. He was looking at Matthew with his head resting on his arms, sideways whereas the blond was leaning back on the crooks of his elbows, his legs lazily thrown out before him.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What was it like when you were little?" Matthew explained, dropping down to one elbow and looking at the warlock curiously.

Kumajirou was tumbling around in the grass in front of them, far more interesting in the grasshoppers and occasional dandelion.

Arthur was silent, thinking back to his own childhood so long ago. "It is not a time I like to remember." He answered finally, noting the other's disappointed frown. "It was a darker age." The sandy-haired man added on, hoping to be done with it.

"I'm sorry for asking." Matthew said sincerely. He fiddled with a blade of grass, the silence between them dragging on. "Thank you for giving me Kumamaru."

"Kumajirou." Arthur corrected automatically. "And…you're welcome." He muttered. "I'm not so bad, you know." He added into his arms defensively. "I'm not like bloody Glinda or that posh fairy godmother, but...I'm not Maleficent either..."

"No." Matthew mused, propping his chin in his hand. "Maybe not…"

* * *

"Arthur. This isn't marmalade." Matthew said slowly, turning the heavy jar in hand.

"No, of course it isn't, you silly sod." The warlock scoffed, tapping the side. "Its red. Its some sort of berry."

"But you always eat your toast with marmalade."

"Maybe I wanted something different." Arthur huffed, looking everywhere but at the prince. "Maybe the jam woman was out of marmalade. Maybe the crone died and the only other jam vendor was an old man who specialized only in the berry fruit spreads."

"The cook used to serve this same jam to me on pancakes. I mentioned that just a few days—"

"Well, it's a bloody pleasant coincidence, yeah?"

Matthew blinked as the warlock stormed into his work area, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. He stared at the door, still holding the jar loosely. Then he looked back down at the jar and began to chuckle, covering his mouth with one hand, shaking his head softly.

* * *

"This jam is really quite good." Matthew said innocently, licking any remaining trace of the sweet spread from his fingertips.

"Enjoy it for now." Arthur grumbled, resolutely not looking at the prince. "Because I'm never getting it again. It's too sweet." He took a long drought of his tea.

(Arthur got both marmalade and that same berry jam the next time he went into town. When Matthew thanked him softly, the warlock claimed that it was a two for one special. He was blushing, however.)

(It was kind of cute, in my opinion.)

* * *

"Stew again?" Arthur asked, crinkling his nose as he peered over Matthew's shoulder to watch the blond absently peel carrots.

"If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to wave that silly little stick of yours and conjure up something else." Matthew retorted. "Better yet, why don't you cook something? Oh right…you can't—"

"Git." The warlock scowled. "Food doesn't taste right if its conjured. It always tastes like bog water."

"I'm sure it would still be an improvement—" Matthew quieted suddenly, realizing that the sharp knife he had been using to peel the carrots was now a smoking pipe. Pursing his lips in displeasure, he gave the sandy-haired man a cross look. "That was very mature."

"I'd fancy meat pie for dinner." Arthur said in an overly jovial voice, smirking when the other's eyes narrowed.

"Make it yourself." Matthew replied.

The older man merely snatched the pipe from his fingers, brushing over the bowl, and taking a deep puff, little tendrils of grayish smoke escaping towards the ceiling. "But you make them much nicer." He said, very matter of fact. "Please?"

"I don't have the ingredients." The blond, after another moment of sulking, admitted.

"What do you need? I'll just apparate into town—"

"I want to come with you." Matthew interrupted. "Please?"

"Absolutely—" Then indigo eyes seemed to glisten and glow and Arthur found himself very unable to finish his original thought.

After six months, Matthew finally got to see the outside world again.

(Arthur noticed how much more cheerful the prince was and decided, grudgingly mind you!, that maybe he'd let the other tag along again.)

And, for the first time in decades (possibly a century), Arthur was hugged.

He also got his meat pie for dinner.

* * *

"He's a strange one, isn't he Kuma?" Matthew whispered into his pet's ear as he watched the warlock seemingly yell at an invisible crowd outside. "Do you think he's talking to the fairies?"

Matthew had never seen a fairy, even though Arthur swore up and down that they were following him, but sometimes he could hear the faint bell-like laughter of the mischievous creatures and feel the delicate brush of a not-quite breeze against his errant curl. Arthur told him it was good that he couldn't see them, anyways, because they'd probably try to lead him into their world.

"They think you're beautiful enough to be one of them." Arthur had said gruffly, quill scratching across parchment as he sat with the blond around the hearth.

"That's…flattering?"

The warlock gave a snort of derisive laughter. "Hardly. If the Fairy Queen thinks you're prettier than she, she'll ruin you. And if the King thinks you're prettier than she, well…"

"I don't think I'm pretty." Matthew pointed out quietly. "Princess Katyusha…she is pretty. Her sister is also very pretty. I am—"

"A far more pleasant sight than either. I've met both. The blond is a crybaby and the younger is disturbed. You are more charming in company and appearance." Arthur cut in, pointing to a word on the parchment with an ink-stained fingertip. "Did I translate that right?"

"I can't read ancient runes, Arthur." the blond had sighed, hugging Kumajirou close to him.

Now, Matthew blushed at the memory, burrowing his face into Kumajirou remembering the other's compliment. It was strange. For every infuriating comment, there was a rather sweet, albeit awkward, one that made it very difficult for the prince to choose an appropriate response.

"Who is he again?" The bear asked, almost bored.

"That's Arthur." The blond reminded, cheeks warm. "And before you ask, I'm Matthew."

* * *

Awww, they're getting along~

Alright, so Arthur's home-just for reference. The interior is supposed to be like the inside of Sleeping Beauty's cottage from the disney movie. The outside is supposed to be similar to the 7 dwarve's home in the disney movie. Kumajirou was a stuffed bear that Arthur brought to life with a spell. I am channelling some Beauty and the Beast. I was gonna go the "one thousand and one nights" route but that felt too forced. Maybe another time...


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